


You Called Me Jesse

by lovelybunchofhannahnuts



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-09 23:53:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8918497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelybunchofhannahnuts/pseuds/lovelybunchofhannahnuts
Summary: Part of McHanzo Week, Day One!"First Time"It started with friendship... now they're truly getting into the realm of firsts. First names, first confessions, first kiss.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so... this is my first time writing any sort of fanfiction. I've done roleplay for years now, but I've never worked on solo fanfiction before. I wanted to do this in honor of my favorite Overwatch couple, and I really hope you guys like it! I've been in college for a while now, so I'm used to writing analytical papers. If this seems a bit cold or clinical, please let me know. But I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> If you want to chat me up about Hanzo and McCree at all, you can find me at my tumblr page: www.ivegotalovelybunchofhannahnuts.tumblr.com
> 
> I am also willing to take requests for little one shots, if any of you like my writing enough that you want to see more of these two wonderful men. Enjoy!

The first sip of bourbon was always the best; certainly helped if it was top shelf liquor, but even the cheap stuff could garner the same effect. Warmth pooled in McCree’s stomach as he put his lips to his refilled flask, wandering along the Watchpoint in a lazy fashion with spurs jingling along the concrete. Didn’t matter if he was in Gibraltar or Santa Fe, that initial drink of his preferred liquor would always be a constant. 

The gunslinger just had to take comfort in the things that would never change: the drab, grey façade of their home base, the way the sunlight reflected beautifully off of the sea below the cliffs, the camaraderie of the Overwatch team as they all gathered for the recall… even his usual choice of wardrobe was soothing, despite protests along the lines of “Halloween was almost ten months ago, Jesse, it’s not funny anymore”. Pff. Not funny, my ass. Had they even noticed my belt buckle? Hilarious.

McCree hadn’t been sure what to expect by coming back into the Overwatch fold. Not everyone had approved of his former Blackwatch operations and cohorts. He certainly hadn’t been able to stomach it on occasion, particularly when shit had gone belly up toward the end. Maybe a good thing when he had taken off before the explosion in Switzerland.

McCree took another sip of bourbon as he rounded the corner by the comm tower, getting one hell of a view of the Bay of Gibraltar as the sun was preparing to sink below the horizon. Staring out over the sea, his thoughts turned to when he had received the call: enthusiastic to be needed again, grinning while chewing on the end of his cigar as he listened to instructions, packing what little he possessed and not looking back. It had been about damn time for some stability, and perhaps Overwatch was the way to find balance. Changes were bound to happen, however, despite the desperation for some nostalgia and the chance for redemption. 

\---

His enthusiasm had turned to unease the closer he traveled to the base, although his worries had been easily pushed to the back of his mind upon his arrival five months ago. McCree had been welcomed with nothing but kindness and warmth, encouraged by the entourage that had already gathered for the recall.

Reinhardt and Torbjorn had cheered at his return over pints of German beer; Lena had wrapped her arms around him as tight as they could go, charging so fast she knocked McCree’s hat clean off his head; Angela had given him a once-over with a charming smile, chiding him not two seconds later for lighting up a cigar; Mei-Ling laughed as McCree had given the good doctor his best scowl, unable to keep the expression long before chuckling along; Winston ambling along to the nearest lab in the facility, waving a cheery hello while McCree gave him an incline of the head with his hat.  
Even the newest additions to Overwatch had been kind. Lucio on his skates, wheeling up skillfully and offering McCree a fist bump; Hana teasing his middle-age before smiling and popping the bubble gum in her mouth.

The arrival of Genji two days after his own brought the biggest surprise of all: the tight-lipped, stiff-backed, authoritative presence of the cyborg’s older brother, Hanzo Shimada. Considering how close the gang was with Genji, they were already aware of what had occurred in the past, how the youngest Shimada had received his injuries and transformed into what he was. Genji was willing to forgive and reconcile, and so the rest of the team was willing to follow his example. Everyone was eager to make Hanzo feel welcome, part of the team.

Hanzo was less than pleased at the immediate attention. Dodging hugs, handshakes, and any form of pleasant greeting, the eldest Shimada had given a short nod in acknowledgement before disappearing into parts unknown, leaving everyone high and dry.

 

“Don’t worry, he just needs some time to adjust. This is very new for him,” Genji had reassured the crowd, although he had sounded less than hopeful.

Hanzo had been one tough nut to crack, that was for sure. Everyone else knew to leave well-enough alone, but Jesse McCree never backed down from a challenge. He was determined to be friends with the guy, no matter what he had to do to get there. Of course, he’d been attracted to that gorgeous face since he first set foot in the Watchpoint, but… no one else had to know that.

\---

First run-in with Hanzo had been in the kitchen at 2:24 a.m., five days after his arrival with Genji. Insomnia had driven McCree out of the warmth of his bed and toward the coffee pot for his black java, staring into the dark contents of his mug when he heard the door sliding open. 

“Howdy, partner,” McCree greeted heartily, offering a smile and a wave.

McCree only received a curt hm in reply, promptly ignored as Hanzo began brewing tea. Effectively shut down.

Well. It would take more than that to deter his efforts.

\---

Three weeks passed before he spotted him again, this time in the training ranges. McCree had walked in on Hanzo, casually observing as the archer handled a powerful-looking bow with expert accuracy, each shot fired landing right on target.

McCree’s low whistle had brought Hanzo’s head whipping around to the entryway, another arrow already nocked and prepared to shoot the intruder between the eyes. His brows furrowed as he found only the gunslinger, leaning against the doorframe with a charmed smile on his lips.

“Impressive, archer. Hard not to admire that aim.”

“Perhaps you will learn a lesson, then, cowboy.”

Damn, that low growl of a voice had McCree’s immediate attention, spine straightening unconsciously as he smiled and chuckled.

“Give me more credit than that, Shimada. Ya haven’t seen me in action yet.”

Hanzo merely gave him a terse glance, quirking a regal brow. “In that outfit? It would not matter. You would be spotted and eliminated immediately.”

“Alright, why is everyone givin’ me shit about my outfit? I happen to like what I wear, thank ya kindly,” McCree replied, exasperation tinging his tone. Hanzo merely emitted a noise that could almost be counted as a laugh.

“It is ridiculous. I do not need to watch you shoot in order to determine you are lackluster. Anyone who makes themselves that obvious deserves to perish.”

McCree spluttered at the words, for once coming up speechless. Who was this guy to judge when he was just as anachronistic? By the time McCree had found his voice and was going to let his next retort fly, Hanzo had already packed up his bow and walked out of the range, metal feet barely making a sound against the concrete.

Had that been Hanzo’s way of pushing, or had he been joking? Grinding his teeth, McCree dug out a cigarillo and lit up, loading up Peacekeeper and firing off some rounds in frustration. Not his best shooting, either. He missed more targets than he would ever care to admit. He was the best sharpshooter, after all. Couldn’t have anyone – least of all Hanzo – sensing how pissed he was.  
Fuckin’ Hanzo. The man was grouchy and distant, but he underestimated McCree’s stubborn ambition. He wouldn’t be pushed away so easily.

\---

“You. Me. Shootin’ contest.”

Hanzo froze where he stood in the kitchen at 3:46 that next morning, turning on his heel to face McCree in the doorway. Gotcha, he thought to himself. Full outfit – spurs included – and he had managed to catch the guy by surprise. And by the look on the archer’s face, McCree could safely say he seemed intrigued by the proposition.

“Excuse me?”

“I think ya heard me, Shimada. I’m challengin’ you. Your arrows against my bullets. Training arena, ten minutes.”

Hanzo snorted a bit as he steeped his tea – something minty, going by the smell – clearly amused. “What makes you think that it would be any sort of challenge?”

McCree felt his trademark grin slide right onto his lips, catching the interested light in Hanzo’s eyes. “I would hold off on the assumptions, if I were you. Besides, if it’s not a challenge for ya, what do you have to lose?”

“My time?” Hanzo retorted with a quirk of his brow, although he seemed to digest the offer in his mind. McCree was fully prepared to argue before the archer offered the barest glimmer of a smirk, a gesture that had the cowboy’s heart fluttering just a bit too fast. “A bet, then. I win, you pay for my green tea out of your own pocket on the next supply run.”

“Fine. I win? You owe me some decent bourbon,” McCree countered as he fingered the revolver at his hip, itching to show this Shimada just what he was made of. 

\---

McCree chuckled at the memory as he downed another shot of bourbon from his flask, moving his hat to shade his eyes when the sunset had grown a bit too bright. That first match with Hanzo had ended in a stalemate. Athena had kept track of their scores while they shot their way through various simulations, eventually deeming that they were both exhausted from their efforts of attempting to outmaneuver the other. They both thrived in competition, McCree could tell that much, wits and senses sharper as they focused on their targets and traded semi-insulting quips. McCree swore he saw an actual smile grace Hanzo’s lips in an elegant curve before he took off, but that remained a mystery.

Surprisingly enough, that night had been the turning point. McCree saw more of Hanzo around the Watchpoint as the days passed, typically silent greetings making way for actual conversation. McCree usually spotted the archer strutting around by himself in the hopes of finding anything interesting to do, although he did spend quite a bit of time reconnecting with Genji, carrying on discussions in rapid-fire Japanese. McCree thought he had heard his name once or twice whenever he happened to catch them talking, but his knowledge of their native language had died out with his Blackwatch days, so he hadn’t been entirely certain.

It wasn’t just Hanzo’s general presence that had been the real shocker for McCree. More than once, the archer had sought him out in the kitchen or knocked on the door to his private room, requesting a rematch with the ghost of a smile. Fine by him. As long as he had the opportunity to watch Hanzo at work again.

Not that he admired the man’s insanely gorgeous musculature or dry, witty humor at all; the strong shoulders plugged into powerful arms that were toned from years of hard training; the intricate dragon tattoo that ran along his left bicep, easily viewed through side of the kyudo-gi that Hanzo kept free… Nope. Definitely not.

From those competitions in the training arena came a strange kind of kinship with the eldest Shimada, one McCree had been hoping and gunning for, but was still surprised that it had come to fruition. Their sessions in the range were now nightly, a dependence that they were both willing to concede to in the interest of light-hearted contest and general training. They chatted quietly in the early hours of the morning when sleep would escape them both, the topics slowly going from surface issues like weaponry or Overwatch tactics to discussions of their former lives; their childhoods, distant memories, individual preferences. They even took the time to find each other after they returned to base from their respective missions, walking around the Watchpoint with flasks in hand and enjoying their own company.

McCree was delighted to learn more about Hanzo with every moment spent together, keeping new tidbits locked up in his brain for future use, whether it came from the Japanese man himself or was observed through his daily routines. The archer preferred strong green tea over coffee in the mornings, listened to quiet classical music for concentration, employed cartography as a hobby (a hobby he insisted was useful, as it “helped maintain tactical awareness and strategic planning”), and took up reading in his spare time. 

Of course, that wasn’t all McCree had noticed, grinning to himself as he ambled past the training rooms. Each meeting with Hanzo ensured that McCree could sneak some glances in the archer’s direction, burning his image into his brain to remember fondly and honestly: the way his hair, black as ink and peppered with grey at the temples, was tied up and back by that enchanting golden scarf; the sharp, intelligent, chocolate-brown eyes that missed nothing; the elegant lines of his cheekbones and jaw, sharp and adorned with clean facial hair that aged him gracefully; full lips that looked enticing whether utilized as a scowl or a smirk…

Alright, perhaps McCree was getting ahead of himself. He had it bad for the archer, that he could no longer deny. That fully realized train of thought had the cowboy effectively gulping down more of his bourbon, flask half-empty as he passed the hangar and looped back around toward the rec room. If he was already drinking this much tonight, he could always stop for one more refill before hitting the hay.

Movement above him had McCree craning his neck upward, barely catching the sight of dangling feet on the bridge that connected the comm tower with the dorms. Curiosity bubbled to the surface when said feet reflected light from the fading sunset… Hanzo, perhaps? He had been notably absent at dinner, the seat he had started taking at the table over the past five months vacant for the entirety of the meal.

Digging a cigarillo and lighter out of the back pocket of his chaps, McCree held the nub with his mechanical hand while his flesh thumb rasped against the flint, flame coming up on the first try. Deep inhale in, exhale with smoke out. Satisfied at the familiar, musky flavor on his tongue, the gunslinger located the nearest staircase and worked his way up to the bridge, hoping his suspicions were correct as he peeked around the corner. 

Sure enough, Hanzo was seated against the one of the crates that dotted the long walkway, prosthetic legs resting over the lip of the bridge as he stared intently at the orange and red glows reflecting off the bay. The flask that carried the archer’s sake sat at his left side, right within reach. The furrow of Hanzo’s brow was not new to McCree – having been on the receiving end of that scrutinizing look more than once – although this time, that expression was a bit concerning. McCree could practically see the gears turning in the man’s mind, mulling over a subject that was clearly troubling him. Ignoring the way the dimming light gave Hanzo’s face a softer edge, McCree took a bold step forward.

“Fancy seein’ you here,” he murmured quietly, tone nice and low. Even as friends, he was worried that he might honestly drive Hanzo away. When the archer wanted to run, you never saw him again. He knew that from experience now.

Hanzo flicked his gaze to where McCree was standing on the bridge, the glimmer of an emotion unknown to the cowboy crossing his handsome features. “It seems I am not the only one who comes here to think.”

“Mind if I sit with ya?” It was only when Hanzo inclined his head that McCree took the initiative, parking himself next to his friend and blowing out inhaled smoke from his cigarillo. “I like it up here. Nice and quiet. I mean, I find myself here once in a while to think, but I was just wanderin’ around when I heard ya moving above me.”

“Ah.” Hanzo reached out for his sake and took a long gulp, holding it out as an offering for McCree. He had been about to say no, go for the bourbon in his own flask, but something in the archer’s gaze had him accepting the foreign liquor anyway, chasing away the oaky flavors of his own alcohol with something almost sweet. A few moments passed before the archer said anything else. “I did not mean to disturb your thoughts. I apologize.”

“Naw, no need to be sorry. I was hankerin’ for your company, anyway. Missed ya at dinner,” McCree replied with a shrug of his shoulders, serape shifting slightly at the movement.

“Hankering…?” Hanzo quirked a brow as he sounded out the word. The confused cast to his brown eyes nearly made McCree chuckle.

“It means I’ve been wantin’ to hang out with ya.”

“Oh… why did you not just say that then?” This time, Hanzo returned the quip with a soft smile. This man would be the death of Jesse McCree, he decided. That grin was already doing him in, the slight dimples in Hanzo’s cheeks making it that much more endearing.

“I said what I meant to say. Not to yer likin’?”

“Speak plain English, McCree. It helps no one if we cannot understand your strange Southern idioms.”

“And here I thought I was bein’ charming,” McCree chuckled, which earned a small punch to his arm from his companion.

A comfortable silence formed between the two men as they enjoyed Hanzo’s sake and shared the rest of McCree’s cigarillo, observing the sunset together as the brilliant hues slowly faded into darkness. Stars quickly replaced the sun’s bright rays, twinkling lights above them that reminded McCree vaguely of his days in Deadlock; time spent observing the constellations in the middle of a desert he once called home. It was a comforting balm to his nerves, soothing him to no end. Hanzo seemed to be relaxing a bit more, as well, the tension in his shoulders dissipating with every passing second. The furrow in his brow was still there, however.

McCree felt himself open his mouth to ask what was wrong when Hanzo surprised the shit out of him. “Do you ever feel lonely, McCree?”

Where had that come from? The shock must have registered clearly on his face, since Hanzo winced a bit and took another long pull from his sake flask, gaze darting away in embarrassment. “That was blunt. I am sorry.”

“N-No, that’s alright, just… ah,” McCree quickly answered, rubbing the back of his neck as he processed the question. “First time anyone’s asked me somethin’ like that, if we’re bein’ perfectly honest.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, I would say I’m pretty good-natured, so I don’t think anyone really ever thinks to ask,” the gunslinger replied sincerely. “But yeah. I do. Why do you ask?”

Now it was Hanzo’s turn to fidget, cheeks reddened from the combination of alcohol and slight humiliation. McCree could see the man’s jaw working as he struggled with what was going through his mind. “Because I have felt this way for a long time. I thought perhaps I had finally escaped that by joining Overwatch, but it has not faded. Even being reunited with my brother has not assuaged this feeling. I suppose I was not sure what I expected when he found me again, but I had hoped that I would… feel something outside of being lonely.”

McCree nodded his head in absolute understanding, although he was silently floored by the conversation. Hanzo was actually discussing his inner feelings. This was as rare as a blue moon, something McCree knew would probably never happen again. None of that showed on his face, though, when he answered. “Happens when you’re on the run for so long. You learn to live with the loneliness, even if you make friends along the way.”

Another long silence, more uncomfortable than the last. Tension threaded its way through the air between them, although McCree couldn’t quite place why. Perhaps worry for Hanzo, but the archer seemed way more concerned at sharing such things, rubbing his hands against his pants like he was wiping away nervous sweat.

A soft sigh, then a response. This one came in a tight, anxious tone. “There are moments where it disappears, even if only for a little while. Being here has not all been for naught.”

McCree quirked a thick brow, curiosity peaked. “How do ya figure?”

That was when the miraculous happened. Just as he met Hanzo’s intense chocolate stare, the archer reached out to cup McCree’s jaw with a surprisingly gentle grip, thumb running along the unkempt facial hair resting there. The movement was a tad shaky, however, as if Hanzo hadn’t expected to do such a thing either. “I cannot explain how – or why – but you have captivated my interest, cowboy.”

McCree found himself unable to breathe as he sat motionless, at Hanzo’s complete and utter mercy as that low voice penetrated his very soul. He hoped the look on his face wasn’t too ridiculous, partially-chapped lips parted as he tried to find some semblance of oxygen. “I have?” Lame reply, but all he could muster.

Going by Hanzo’s soft chuckle, McCree looked like a fucking dope. “The only time I feel my loneliness disappear is when I have you around. I never understood the emotion for what is was until very recently, which honestly had me quite… angry.”

“Angry? What, am I not a likeable person?” McCree retorted, though there was no heat to his tone. He refused to pull away from Hanzo’s soft grasp, subtly leaning into the thumb that continued to caress his cheek. Was this even real?

Hanzo’s stare was absolutely hypnotic. McCree never wanted to look at anything ever again in his entire life. This moment, time suspended between them as the stars were reflected in the archer’s gaze, was something McCree knew he would never forget.

Hanzo sighed softly as his grip loosened a bit, much to McCree’s disappointment. “Not with you, per se. I have been on my own for a long time. I was frustrated that I was allowing my loneliness to even affect me at all, let alone that I let myself become close to you.”

“Alright, I hate to say it, but that doesn’t sound much better,” McCree replied as a tease, although worry made his heart clench tightly in his chest. Maybe he was dreaming, or hoping for too much. You can wake up anytime now, dumbass.

“I am not phrasing this correctly,” Hanzo murmured quietly. Another deep breath that seemed to last for fucking ages, and then, “My solitary nature has not allowed me the chance to open up to anyone for fear of abandonment. You have shown me that I do not have to be alone.”

Wait… had he heard that right? McCree’s eyes flared at the words, breath rushing harshly out of his nose as Hanzo’s grip tightened on his face once again. “R-Really?” Damnit, was he blushing? He definitely felt the blood rushing to his cheekbones. McCree silently blamed it on the shared liquor. Hanzo certainly wouldn’t have been saying all of this if he hadn’t been drinking. The man never talked this much, sake loosening his tongue just a bit. The archer’s gaze looked fairly clear, though, not nearly as glassy as McCree’s own.

It happened so damn quickly. McCree felt his brain short circuit as Hanzo leaned in and took hold of the cowboy’s lips, having moved too fast for him to process the situation completely. As the archer planted a chaste, yet meaningful kiss against his mouth, he screamed at himself mentally. Fuck, he should be kissing him back, doing… something, anything. He was just so shocked out of his mind.

And that was when Hanzo pulled away, disappointment flickering faintly in his gaze as he lowered his hand from McCree’s jaw and sat back. “I, ah… I apologize.”

Come on, you fuckin’ idiot, say something. “It’s fine, just… what just happened?” No, no, wrong thing to say! Damnit, McCree!

Before he could utter another word, Hanzo rose to his feet and capped his sake flask in one swift movement, already turning on his heel. “I will not bother you anymore this evening, Jesse. Goodnight.” A clear dismissal.

Wow, McCree felt like a right moron. Why hadn’t he done anything, was it too la- wait, what did he say?

“Hanzo? What did you just call me?”

The archer froze halfway to the nearest doorway, shoulders bunching uncomfortably as he kept his back turned to the gunslinger. “Ah… Jesse. I hope that is alright.”

McCree just stared, dumbfounded. That was the first time Hanzo had ever called him anything other than ‘cowboy’, ‘McCree’, or ‘idiot’ since they had become friends. Just because he himself threw out pet names like it was nobody’s business did not mean Hanzo did the same for anyone else. It was his own form of endearment, McCree realized.

That was all it took. McCree got to his feet and jogged right over to Hanzo, catching the man’s wrist before he could take another step. “You called me Jesse.”

“I take it you do not prefer such a thing?”

“No, no, I do! Just- fuck, I’m a shit show tonight. I… I like hearin’ my name from you. I love it, I want to hear more of it.” McCree was definitely speaking way too fast, but with how hard his heart was beating in his chest, he couldn’t help it. His flesh hand shook slightly, blush deepening along his cheeks. He felt like such a teenager.

Hanzo’s eyes flared open in surprise as he turned around to face McCree, his own skin tinted with pink. Then, he let loose a deep, rumbling chuckle. “You are a shit show.”

Okay, that helped to crack the tension between them, McCree joining in with his own laughter as he took a step closer. Clasping Hanzo’s hands with his own, he nodded. “I’m a thirty-eight-year-old man, but I’m trembling like I’m seventeen.”

“Is that why you’re grabbing my hands so tightly?”

“Hey, keep your voice down. I have a reputation as a badass to uphold.”

“I could tell by your awful belt buckle,” Hanzo replied with a snort, shaking his head before glancing down at their joined palms. He seemed to be struggling with his own words. Then again, it wasn’t like Hanzo shared his feelings every single day. This was rare, and there was no sense in pushing. “You are alright with this? I did not read into things?”

“Fuck, I thought I was askin’ too much,” McCree responded with absolute sincerity, letting out a shaky laugh. “I… I like you, Hanzo. A hell of a lot. Since you came here, actually. I’m glad we’ve been good friends and we’ve learned about each other, but I was hopin’ somethin’ like this would happen.”

Hanzo was clearly stunned at the confession, mouth opening and closing a few times as he fought through his next statement. “I was rude to you when I came here initially. How could you think that kindly of me that quickly?”

McCree shrugged his shoulders underneath his serape. “Ya just needed to relax, and I was determined to help. I saw somethin’ in ya when you got here, and I’m just glad that my instincts were right.”

“I…” He seemed absolutely unsure of himself, but eventually Hanzo nodded. Hesitantly, he leaned in and rested his head against McCree’s chest, allowing the gunslinger to wrap his arms around him and hold him close once he was sure McCree wasn’t about to move away. “I am relieved, as well, Jesse.”

Damn, his name sounded good coming from Hanzo’s lips. Reverent, light, full of meaning. McCree knew that Hanzo would not have said nearly as much had it not been for the sake, but perhaps that was the way the archer had decided to admit his feelings. Hard to do that completely sober, after all. McCree was willing to take what he could get, having come to understand the man fairly well over the course of their friendship.

Leaning down, he offered Hanzo the same kind of worship, his mouth caressing the archer’s soft lips, feeling the other man’s arms tighten around his middle as they kissed under the stars. He could have stayed there for ages, running his hands along Hanzo’s back and deepening the kiss, the archer giving his bottom lip a bite that had him hungry for more. Certainly led them from the bridge to McCree’s dorm – the nearest they could find – and started the beginning of relationship that was strange, yet thrilling.

First encounter with Hanzo? Not the best, but it certainly paved the way for their friendship.

First time hearing his name coming from Hanzo? Fucking wonderful.

That first kiss? Better than any top shelf bourbon in the world, the warmth spreading from his chest to the rest of his body, soothing his weary soul for the first time in his entire life.

And every kiss that came after that felt just like the first time, giving McCree a new constant in his life that made him feel like the luckiest cowboy on earth.


End file.
